“Imagine that,” Matteo says, like he’s afraid to believe it. His turns back to the gala, considering his options. After a few moments pass, he looks sideways at me. When I smile in return, he curses. “Okay, fine,” he adds. “What do you need me to do?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
—JAMIE
She’s been under that umbrellawith him for a long time. I sip bitterly from my champagne as I watch Noa and Matteo outside in the rain. I mean, couldn’t she have picked somewhere less… romantic?
“What’s wrong?” Jordan asks from next to me. “You look miserable. Knock it off.”
I curl my lip, letting her know that I am, in fact, miserable.
She suddenly tugs my arm. “Heads up,” she says. “Here comes my mother.” She straightens next to me like she’s about to face her drill sergeant.
Cecelia Miles walks toward us in a canary-yellow ball gown, shining brightly in the sea of guests. Despite the normally cheerful hue, Cecelia still looks terrifying, and I straighten my back as I greet her.
“There they are,” she says, coming to kiss both me and Jordan on the cheek. “James, you look wonderful.” She steps back to examine me. “Very appropriate,” she adds. She glances at Jordan, scanning her before coming over to actually rub off some of her lipstick with her thumb. “Moderation, dear,” she whispers.
I watch as Jordan does her absolute best to keep her cool. Cecelia turns to me again.
“James,” she inquires. “Has your mother arrived yet?”
“I haven’t seen her, Mrs. Miles,” I reply. “I’m sure she’ll be here shortly.”
Cecelia nods and glances to Jordan again. “Thank you for making such a good show of things,” she tells her daughter. “You both look lovely, even a little dangerous.” She smiles as she motions to my eye. “Now go enjoy yourself.”
It sounds like an order. Jordan tells her mother she will, and then nods as she walks away. Once her mom is gone, she turns to me and laughs.
“See?” she says. “She just wants me to let everyone know I’m the type of girl who likes the company of reckless rich boys. The ultimate status symbol.”
She glances over to where Shawn is standing near the piano. “And now,” she says, turning back to me, “this is where I leave you.” She reaches up to adjust my tie. “Do anything to embarrass me here,” she adds quietly, “and I’ll cut your balls off.” She taps my cheek and smiles. “Ciao!”
I blow out a relieved breath as she leaves and crosses the room toward Shawn. She beams when she sees Jordan approach, and then the two are laughing and chatting. Good for her. Parental expectations be damned.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
My breath catches at the sound of the deep voice. I turn slowly, my heart thumping as I look up at my father. I swallow hard, prepared to answer when he cuts me off.
“You don’t belong here anymore, James,” he says in a low voice, leaning toward me so others won’t overhear. “I thought I made that pretty clear.”
Before I can make an excuse, the crowd in the room splits apart as Alessandro Mancini starts in our direction. The tapping of his shoes on the marble floor is absolutely haunting.
“And this must be the infamous James Matthews,” Mancini calls,walking toward us. He’s smiling, but his gaze is almost hateful. He stops in front of me, uncomfortably close so that I have to take a step backward. An intimidation tactic.
“Mr. Mancini,” I say politely.
His mouth flinches with a sneer before he can adjust it. He glances around the room casually, his gaze lightly touching on my father before steadying on me.
“You seem to have become quite a problem for me, James,” he says, and takes a sip of his champagne. “Are you always such an indignant asshole?”
“My father would probably say yes,” I reply, and feel my father shift next to me. Although I know that Mancini is… evil, for lack of a better word, I can’t lose sight of our mission. We need to prove it. So I smile. “But I do apologize, sir,” I add. “Like I told my father, I never meant to cause any trouble. You have my full discretion. I’m just grateful to be here tonight.”
Mancini watches me, annoyed but also appeased. His ego is outsized, and for someone like him, a little pandering, a little flattery, goes a long way.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done, sir,” I say. “And me and Jordan Miles are grateful that her mother let me attend tonight.”
At this, he stiffens. A little name-dropping also helps.
Mancini drinks from his glass again, and turns fully to my father. “Any blowback is on you,” he tells him. “Next time…” But his voice fades out as a group of women approach them. He greets them warmly. “Ladies,” he calls jovially. “You all look beautiful tonight.”
